holy water (cannot help you now)
by Gray Doll
Summary: "Try to convince yourself that you're not lost. That there's something, still something out there for you to continue on. That you're just taking the long way home."


**a.n./** yay, serious gray doll is back. what is this? ...uh, thoughts. a little weird, but I hope this can be forgiven considering its nature? anyone?

* * *

**;-;**

**holy water (cannot help you now)**

There is a light in the hallway leading to the door at the end and you did not turn it on – surprise, you think, it will be a surprise.

Congratulations. Open your eyes, wide, breathe in the air around you. You are now in the game. Welcome to the game. You do not get to leave the game.

**-;**

Imagine a knife. Now, imagine a throne.

(He certainly does)

Build it in your mind. Steel. Gold. Velvet. Ermine. Plush. Feathers. Spikes. Get creative – there's no wrong answer. Have fun with it. All that matters is that it sits taller than everyone else around it.

Imagine a throne, and imagine it isn't yours. Not yet. What wouldn't you do to sit on it? Be honest. Honesty is key.

Now imagine the knife again. Try to explain how it is different from the throne. Try to explain it to the blood on the wall and the blood in your mouth and the hole in your heart.

Imagine the knife, and imagine it isn't yours. Not yet. What wouldn't you do to hold it? Be honest. What wouldn't you do.

**-;**

It's like that. You're the knife, or maybe you're the one holding it, but no, you know you're not-

Let's say the knife is buried inside you, opening skin and tearing its way to that empty niche where your heart should be. There, that's better.

It's like that. It's like death (he imagines). But you've never died, not yet, not from the lack of effort, certainly, and never in the technical sense, because there's a piece of meat in your chest and it's your heart and it hasn't stopped beating. And maybe that's too narrow a metric for death but it's the only one you have.

There's red around you, and it's the only thing you know. There's blood still pumping in your veins. You are not dead.

Try to convince yourself that you're not lost.

Try to convince yourself that there's something, still something out there for you to continue on.

Try to convince yourself that you're just taking the long way home.

**-;**

Imagine a game of chess, and then think of the board stained with crimson. There, you think, it's a nice touch, and maybe it's a little macabre for your taste but you have to admit there's an element of beauty to it.

Now make your move. It's your turn, after all, but you can't quite remember if you're playing with the white or the black pawns.

That's alright: you can do whatever you want, you know you can, only that's a lie, isn't it? Look at the board again. It's stained with crimson. What does that tell you? What does it mean to you?

You play with the white. Wise move. Or is it? You play with the white, and you move the horse first, and your opponent starts laughing and it's a laugh that sounds like he's being strangled to death.

You play with the white, and this time there's no opponent, and the board is still stained with crimson. You think you can win this match. You think you can beat yourself.

You are, of course, wrong.

**-;**

What you may not have realized is that you will die in the game. Don't be scared – because you look scared – embrace it, accept it.

There's blood on your hands and it's soaking your shirt. Did you do something? You seem even more scared now. It's probably not your blood. Yet, obviously – you still don't get it, you still look scared.

You're holding a gun and the metal singes your fingers and it looks like it hurts. There is blood on your hands and it's soaking your shirt and you need to clean it up or people will get the wrong idea. What is the wrong idea, you ask: not the right one, obviously.

Let's play catch up. You will die in the game. Sorry.

_Thanks for saying that_, you say, and you didn't have to.

**-;**

Imagine the sea. Imagine its push and pull on the shores of a deserted island, and the way the sun gleams gold on the water surface. Imagine yourself, alone on a boat made of metal and lead, in the middle of the sea. Look around you. It's a beautiful setting.

Imagine the sea. Only this time, you know you were wrong before, because this is not a beautiful setting, this is not harmless, the sea is red and it looks like blood and you can't stop staring at it.

Imagine diving into the sea. Head held underwater. Blood in your eyes. Blood in your mouth.

Imagine someone reaching down and pulling you up. That someone has a face like an angel, too white and too bright to look at. That someone loves you. That someone has died for you a thousand times, and will die for you a thousand times more. That someone tries to pull you up, pull you out, clean the blood from your face.

You want to dive back into the sea.

**-;**

There's a girl with hair wrought from sun and gold and she tells you you're going to die in the game. You refuse to believe her, shake your head until the words echo in your brain and resonate inside you and you still refuse to believe her.

You should have believed her.

**-;**

The devil is a human person that you know.

Picture this: you are having a conversation with the devil, but he's wearing a mask but you know who he is. But you want him to say it first. You want him to tell you first.

His mask has two holes for eyes and you know who he is, and you need him to say it, scream it, twist the letters in his mouth and throw them to you, but he doesn't.

Picture this: you are having a conversation with the devil and he takes off his mask. Only he was never wearing a mask in the first place, and the reveal is dull and you are not surprised.

He watches you for your reaction. You look at the mirror instead. He keeps watching.

Picture this: the devil is wearing a mask and he's laughing, and laughing, and laughing, and you're not sure why. You're mad and your head hurts and your heart hurts so you reach forward, you rip off his mask, tear it from his face. When you do this, he smashes your head into the wall, and white becomes red.

When you wake up you don't remember anything. The devil is gone. Who was the devil? Was there a devil?

Picture this: the devil is you. The devil has always been you.

Start screaming.

**-;**

(Yes, of course, this is the perfect time to panic.)

**-;**

Later you will wait in the hallway. You won't go in. You're scared, which is embarrassing for you and entertaining for everyone else. You are asked a question and you say: I don't have to answer that. Which is true.

Open your eyes. Open your heart. Open the door. You can leave if you want to.

The walls spin and the pictures on them are staring down at you, smiling at you, laughing at you, but who knows if it's the fear or something else altogether. You think of yourself with eyes that bleed so much you can't see the way out – but are you really, truly, trapped? The answer is yes.

The answer has always been yes.

Your fingers are still on the handle of the door and it's too cold, too sharp, digging into your flesh but you don't care, not really, and you have to go inside. Go on – no one is going to hurt you. Yet. Because everyone gets hurt eventually.

That may be a metaphor. It is probably not a metaphor. Your hand is shaking and you refuse to open the door.

But, you know, in the end, you will. You were always supposed to open the door.

**-;**

You are back in the sea. Your head is in the water and there's a hand holding it down, clutching you from the neck, and you want to open your mouth, you want to scream, but you will drown if you do.

You remember there was someone who loved you and tried to pull you out, you remember there was someone too white and too bright to look at, and you want that someone here, you want them to-

There's a hand holding you down, and you know you will drown. You're already drowning. You drowned.

You are back in the sea, but this time it's not the sea, it's a sky, it's the black space between stars, the never ending void behind dying planets. You are in the sky, and the sky is painted with hues of red, and you're falling.

You had seen that coming. You knew you were destined to fall from the sky.

The sky is red, and you get it, for the first time you understand: you are not falling, with the right mindset, you are flying.

**-;**

(But that's a lie, isn't it, you know you will still hit the ground-)

**-;**

There's a light in the hallway that you didn't turn on, or maybe you did, maybe you flicked the switch as you were walking, but you were too occupied with staring at the door and not making a single sound and you don't remember doing that.

Why don't you remember it?

The light isn't good and the walls look like they're dancing with shadows. There are pictures and they look happy, their smiles are a cut of teeth across beautiful faces and they're all staring at you.

The walls look like they're dancing with the shadows, and you decide to dance with one of them until it starts crying. It says it wants to leave. It asks you to help it but you forget how to move your arms and it's grabbing you, forcing you against the door, saying you have to help it.

You say: I don't have to do anything.

There are two choices here. Go to page twenty four if you sell the house, forget everything that's happened, wash the shadow's fingerprints off your shoulder blades, clean your shirt, clean your hands. Your other option is to start screaming and never stop. Start screaming.

Turn the page. History repeats itself, you heard someone say this once, turn the page, start screaming.

**-;**

There's blood on your hands but it isn't yours. Did you do something?

Nothing wrong, you know, you did nothing wrong, but your hands are red and the wall is red and your knees are suddenly too weak to hold you up-

There's blood on your hands and now it's yours. Did you do something?

**-;**

The devil is a human person that you know, and he knows you two, and you are having a conversation.

Keep your voice friendly. This is not a story. This is the game. This is not harmless. Keep your hands close. Keep your eyes open. Keep your feet on the ground. Keep your voice friendly.

The devil is a human person that you know, and you're smiling at him, and maybe you like being here, and didn't you always want to end up here?

You're holding a gun and the metal singes your hands. It looks like it hurts.

The devil is a human person that you know, and he was never wearing a mask, and you try to imagine things, maybe you will later try to run. Keep your voice friendly – this is important.

The devil is a human person that you know, and you're back in the hallway, the gun is the door handle, and it cuts its way into your flesh, and your hand is bleeding. You don't care. You won't open the door. Of course you will open the door.

There is no blood on the wall. There is only a mirror. Your self waves back to you through the glass. Drop the gun – you don't need it. Drop the gun, you can't shoot yourself. Drop the gun. Keep your voice friendly.

Picture this: you are having a conversation with the devil, only this time it's happening, and your vision goes red. Don't look behind, blink and you'll miss it: he smiles, slow, spreading, cutting, and this is equilibrium. Who is the devil? he asks, Who is the devil?

You want to answer: you, of course, you. But you're not sure. Who is the devil?

**-;**

Imagine a knife. Now, imagine a throne.

(He certainly does)

Build it in your mind. Steel. Gold. Velvet. Ermine. Plush. Feathers. Spikes. Get creative – there's no wrong answer. Have fun with it. All that matters is that it sits taller than everyone else around it.

Imagine a throne, and imagine it is now yours. What haven't you done to sit on it? Be honest. Honesty is key.

Now imagine the knife again. Try to explain how it is different from the throne. Try to explain it to the blood on the wall and the blood in your mouth and the hole in your heart and the person you're talking to.

Imagine the knife, and imagine it is finally yours. What haven't you done to hold it? Be honest. What haven't you done.

**-;**

You remember someone saying, slaying the monster doesn't mean you're not one.

You think that doesn't even make any sense.

**-;**

There is a light in the hallway leading to the door at the end and you did not turn it on – surprise, you think, it will be a surprise.

Congratulations. Open your eyes, wide, breathe in the air around you. You are now in the game. Welcome to the game. You do not get to leave the game.

Your eyes are still close – open them. Will you die in the game? You don't know, you don't know, but you are certain someone once told you that you will.

There are many people in the game. All of them are you.

* * *

**;-;**

**a.n.2/** so if you read this far, god, thank you. lately I have no idea what I'm doing, I just... write things. at first I had jane in mind while writing this. then red john. then jane again. thought this actually works for both, ...in a way. thank you to everyone who's ever read and reviewed my stories. it means so much to me.


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